


For want of Gentleness

by Luzulu



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description, Healing, Human Zenyatta, M/M, Mild Language, NSFW only mentioned, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Promiscuity, Slow Burn, Young Genji Shimada, mild violence, playboy genji
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzulu/pseuds/Luzulu
Summary: Hanamura is a city of corruption, the Shimada are a family of cruelty and Genji is a boy of rebellion and sin. Indulgence, distraction and anger should never replace love. There will never be a time or world in which Genji will not need Zenyatta.





	1. Hanamura- Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first multi-chapter thing I've tried for a while. Posting may be slow after the first few chapters but I am dedicated so please enjoy this work! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

He notices, obviously, when the most renowned group of religious practitioners in the continent comes to stay in his little city. The Shambali monks make a quiet, unassuming entrance as they rent out several modest apartments in the poorer part of town, and begin their quiet, unassuming work. Nonetheless, the entire city is immediately aware of their presence, both their good reputation and charitable work making sure that word passes around quickly. 

However, it is their pure intentions that contrast sharply with such a city of sin that make them stand out most to Genji. 

He wonders how the monks see it; bright and hectic, artificially evergreen sakura surrounding charmingly traditional streets. There had to be some reason for them to have come here, to start their compassionate aid. Perhaps, he thinks, they are simply travelling the country, and are setting up in places of notable poverty. Somewhere inside of him, he hopes that they don’t know, somehow won’t find out about the criminal empire, the people being exploited, the corruption the streets seem to hum with. 

Introspection isn’t his strong suite though, and he attempts to turn his mind off each time he spots one of them, telling himself that he is only keeping an eye just in case they become an item of discussion with his family. They may get off his back if he has some useful information to present. 

That being said, his eyes can’t help but flicker towards a group of them as they pass by the arcade he usually spends his time at. His vision is clouded with alcohol and his mind is full of his friends and partying and who he might take home tonight, but his training tells him that no, you must pay this some attention. There are only three, dressed in simple, coloured robes with thick prayer beads around their necks. Two of them are taller, talking between themselves as a smaller one followers behind. He appears to be younger and is staring into the arcade with wide eyes. The expression on his face conveys wonder, striking a moment of clarity into the ninja, and he considers that the young monk may not have seen such a place before. The monks pass by, and Genji turns back to his friends, still lost in thought. Where would they have been so late at night? Perhaps they were out assisting the children that often got hurt whilst playing in the dark. Maybe they were meditating. He doesn’t care, and should not be giving this so much thought. A friend shoves another drink into his hand and pushes him forward for his turn on the console they are all crowded around. The cheering of the youth around him and the veil of alcohol soon drown out his concerns, and he is lost in sound, energy and sensation. 

Later that night, when he is doing things to piss of his family and please his body with four other people outside the back of a temple, an image of amber eyes, bright with amazement returns to him. He cringes, and prays that despite the late hour, the innocent monk saw nothing of what this city could be.


	2. Arcade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is rather fluffy! Tell me if it's too much! It won't stay that way but I can't help but indulge myself.

When he wakes the next morning, he finds himself in the garden of the family castle, propped up against a tree with a stiff back and a pounding head. He rubs his neck as he sits up, blinking in the morning sun. He must have been left there at some point, he thinks, but doesn’t worry about it too much; protected second heir to the clan that he is, there is no part of the city that is unsafe for him, let alone his own back garden. The grass of the garden is speckled with sunlight, and the breeze is light across the expanse of the Shimada grounds. He takes a moment to observe the expensive landscaping, all precision placed lamps, ornate bridges across small streams and koi ponds, thoroughly interspersed with the cities signature blossom. There is a light dusting of sakura petals across his legs, which he brushes off with a smile. Sleeping in the garden wasn’t particularly good for much but he couldn’t help but appreciate the serenity of the morning and early bird call. Momentarily, he wishes that he could stay here, but cringes at the thought of being found.

He picks himself up and using all the training his clan has given to him, makes his way to his room in the stealthiest way possible. Technically, he has an entire wing of the castle to himself, but Hanzo tends to come and go as he pleases in his brother’s quarters, forcing the younger Shimada to remain avoidant. He manages to pull himself up through his window without being seen, and he flops onto his bed heavily. A thought occurs to him, how long has it been since he has slept in this bed? He scoffs, he can’t remember. He allows himself to relax and stretch for a moment before pulling himself upright and undressing. It wouldn’t do to stay in his dirtied clothing, dirtied and _ripped_ he notes. He wonders who he will make pay for that. Naked, he approaches the wall covering mirror he had had installed, and assesses the damage.

 _Covered_ in bruises and bite-marks.

He sighs, turning to try and get a better look at his back when he hears a knock to the door. He startles, and the pain in his head leaps.

“Yeah? Who is it?” he calls, scrambling towards his dresser and hastily looks for clothing.

“Are you actually in there, brother?” Hanzo’s tone is incredulous. Genji rolls his eyes as he tugs on a pair of shorts and pulls a randomly grabbed crop-top on. The weather is ridiculously hot today, and he’s already sweating from sneaking around the castle.

“You sound surprised” Genji challenges as he walks over to the door, swinging it open and leaning against the frame one handed.

He feels Hanzo’s eyes upon him, taking in all of the marks he had left on display by his choice of garments. He gives his brother a pointed stare, daring him to comment on either his presence or his state, but Hanzo just looks away, coughs.  Genji gives him a couple of seconds.

“So? You wanted something?” He raises his large eyebrows making it clear to his brother that he would rather be somewhere else. That he would _always_ rather be somewhere else.

“Just a message from father,” Hanzo stares past him, “he hopes that you are safe, and that you should feel free to join him for tea sometime to discuss any information you may have gathered during your outings into the city.”

“Right, got it” Genji says dismissively, pulling back into his room, when a recurring and bothersome thought occurs to him. He pauses, catching the other before he left. “Wait, Hanzo, did father say anything about the group of monks that has moved into town?”

Hanzo stops for a moment, suspicion on his face “…it has been a topic of discussion, indeed. I am supposed to be observing them for a period of time to assess if they pose threat.”

Wide amber eyes blink behind his eyelids and something catches in Genji’s throat. The thought of Hanzo, or any of his corrupt clan, could possibly attempt to come close to the harmless good intentions of the newcomers throws a shiver up his spine.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” he suggests, carefully.

Hanzo’s eyebrows pull together doubtfully, and his voice is careful “why, though? Unless you have an _ulterior_ motive, that just really doesn’t seem like you, little brother.”

Genji pulls together the most innocent face he can manage, which granted isn’t very convincing, “I’m in the city much more often than you are, yeah?” Hanzo doesn’t answer him, which he sighs at, “Why don’t you just trust me on this one, yeah?”

Hanzo manages to hide his disgusted expression under stoicism in under a second, which is fairly impressive. For a boy of only 23, Genji often thinks that his brother has the temperament of an embittered old man. He teases him often about when he will get his first grey hairs, he’s sure it won’t be long.

“Fine,” the elder says, looking off down the hall way and then pointedly back to his brother “but you had better show up to the meeting this time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Genji nods, growing tired of the conversation quickly. He’s itching to climb back out of the window and get out in the air to enjoy the warm day.

“Okay, well, goodbye brother,” Hanzo concedes, bowing slightly and allowing a careful glance at the other before he disappears further into the castle. Genji watches him leave and wonders just what it is that he has done to insult his brother the most this time. He considers just what he would have to do to put a smile on the others face as he left, but dismisses the thought. He has accepted the fact that he is nothing but a disappointment at this point, embraces it, even. With a breathy sigh, he lopes towards the window and lightly jumps out into the tree. Sitting between the branches and blossoms, he thinks about the job that he has just argued his way into. Why did he want the task of observing the monks again? His reasoning was gut instinct and foolishness, both things Hanzo would often chide him for. It doesn’t matter, it’s his now, and despite what his brother thinks, he will perform to the best of his ability.

 

It isn’t until late that night that he spots his targets. Again, he is close to the arcade, his friends pooling outside the entrance as one of them brings drinks to the rest. Again, he is rather drunk, as he usually is at this time. The group of them make quite the noise, as more and more people join them. Some of his friends are discussing taking their outing to the closest club, but Genji is distracted by the small set of monks several buildings over. He attempts to sidle over to them, manoeuvring the best he can around the new mass of unfamiliar youths. Drunken bodies attempt to press up against him, and he tries to let them know he appreciates it with as many winks and flirtatious smiles as he can muster. He slips out of the group with a sigh of relief. The night air outside is cold when not surrounded by others, and Genji begins to feel it on his mostly exposed skin. He swallows the rest of his drink, hoping for it to warm him from the inside as he shivers.

 He can feel eyes on him, exhausted bodyguards and lusty teenagers alike, but he brushes them off in favour of approaching the arcade side door. A flash of white and gold catches his attention; Genji decides that despite his drunken state, he is still capable of stealth. Climbing up the wall and perching between the roof and the tree, Genji looks down into the small area.

A warm feeling in his chest. It’s the youngest monk from yesterday. At least, he thinks it is. The boy is peering into the arcade once again, having snuck away from his brothers to stare at the bright lights and gaming machines. Genji doesn’t know if the sight is adorable or sad. Throwing caution to the wind like he is wont to do, the ninja hops off of the wall, landing as lightly as he can beside the boy. His landing is silent and he goes unnoticed. He sidles closer, a grin playing on his lips at the chance to startle the monk.

“Why don’t you just go in?” he asks from behind the others shoulder. It’s a rather shit opening line, but he’s curious. The smaller boy jumps considerably, looking back and up at him with surprise.

Those amber eyes. It’s definitely the boy from yesterday. Gorgeous, soft, tilted and fully lashed, those eyes had haunted the back of his mind since he had seen them first. They are staring up at him now, switching from shock to calm interest. Genji smirks at the monk’s open expression, and cocks one eyebrow.

“Well?”

The boy blinks, and hesitates before speaking, “…I do not think I would know what to do, I was just admiring it.”

His voice is quiet, accented and full of personality. It’s adorable, Genji thinks, before chiding himself. Fawning over a monk and a target would not be a wise decision. Still, he would do his best to represent his family and gain information, professionally, just as his father had always wanted of him. Surely, that could gain him only approval.

“If you want, I could show you?” he makes sure his smile is charming, knowing his boyish good looks alone can catch people off guard.

The smaller boy seems to pause a moment, before smiling widely, “That sounds enjoyable, I think would appreciate it greatly,” he paused, looking sheepish “Though I do not carry any money.”

Genji rolls his eyes, “I’ll pay, come on.” He holds his hand out for the other to take, and feels a dizzy rush in his head when he senses a warm palm fall into in his own.

He makes his way into the arcade, immediately heading up the second story to avoid the small crowd gathered downstairs. Over the noise, he hears the boy call worriedly.

“Please do not think you have to spend money on me, friend.”

Genji laughs, “Don’t worry about it, I’m loaded.”

He looks back at the other, concerned as to why he has gone silent. He needn’t have however, a smile creeping into his lips when he realises the monk was looking around the arcade with awe in his eyes. It’s very cute, Genji notes reluctantly. He tugs at his hand, bringing him close enough to speak at a lower volume.

“What do you wanna try first then?”

He spends the rest of the night following the monk around with a dopey smile on his face, letting him use whatever machines he wants. He’s not usually so affectionate to strangers but the night has an ethereal quality around the monk and he surrenders himself to it, heart soft with alcohol in his veins. He reckons he has spent way too much money on paying for someone else’s enjoyment, but would do it again in a heartbeat. It was well worth it to see the boy’s face light up with every new experience. He discovers that his name is Tekhartha Zenyatta, that his forehead tattoo scrunches up when he smiles and that his laugh sounds like bells. Each time Zenyatta thanks him he feels his stomach flutter and he is totally ashamed. He tries his best to enquire about the business of the Shambali in Hanamura, but Zenyatta is way too involved in pixelated games and he is too light-headedly drunk to push the matter any further. He falls into happy encouragement and warm admiration for the boy in the billowy robes as he leads him around each game and stall in the arcade, explaining each with enthusiasm he hasn’t known himself to possess for quite some time. They stay there until late, when the other Shambali come looking for Zenyatta, worried voices drifting through the streets and the youngest returns to them, laughing good naturedly. He asks that Genji come see him again, and the ninja agrees all too quickly.

Genji returns to Shimada castle to sleep in his room for the first time in however many days. It’s late, but he’s giddy with laughter and sake. When he finally makes it to his bed, he stays awake for far too long, unable to stop thinking of the night he had experienced, the boy he had met. What has Zenyatta done to him in such a short time period?  He feels like a silly school girl, a child with a crush. He’s embarrassed, sure, playboy extraordinaire that he considers himself to be, but embarrassment doesn’t lasts long when you are drunk and tired, never has. He contrasts how this night has ended in comparison to the previous one, and makes a silent plea that he remember everything that has occurred when he wakes up.  He smiles, thinking of Zenyatta’s sweet face, his golden eyes, and knows that it would take him a lifetime to forget that particular image.

 


	3. Warehouse

The first thing he feels the next morning is a sharp pain in his side. There’s yelling and his head hurts, but he’s not hungover. He grumbles, stretching out as luxuriously as he can, before pulling the silk of his sheets down so he can get a better understanding of what’s going on.

“You are disgustingly lazy for someone of your birth” comes a low snarl from somewhere above him.

His eyes roll as far back into his head as physically possible. Hanzo has been trying to kick him awake and is glaring over him with his hands at his hips like some judgemental mother.

Collapsing back against his pillows, he yawns, before fixing his elder brother with a lazy look, “you could have just sent someone to wake me, you know”

“People were sent, you were not responsive,” Hanzo replies, his expression withering, “now get out of bed, you’re needed in the conference room.”

“Mhmm, got’cha” he mumbles, turning over “give me a minute.”

“Get out of bed now, little brother.”

“I’m naked, Hanzo.”

Hanzo splutters and stumbles back from his brothers bedside; Genji has to pinch himself not to laugh in his face.

“You will be in the conference room in the next three minutes or there will be consequences” Hanzo calls hurriedly, backing out of his room.

Genji allows himself to chuckle quietly, hopping out of bed. He’s still in his underwear, actually, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to fuck with his brother.

He throws on his training gear, since he assumes he will have to practice after the meeting is over. After a moment of hesitation, he adds his favourite orange scarf as well. While the scarf does hold sentimental value for him, it is also second to none at hiding the lingering hickies on his neck. He doesn’t have time to do his makeup. He yawns again, rubbing at the back of his head and grimacing, not looking forward to seeing his father this early in the morning.

 

The conference room is already full when he opens the sliding door. Harsh looks turn towards him and he ignores them, moving silently to sit next to his brother at the right hand side of his brother. The seat is consistently reserved for him and is therefore rarely used. Hanzo glares at him and he slouches, head falling into his hand.

“Now that we are all here, we can begin.”

 The meeting goes on for quite some time. Genji supposes that the atmosphere could be called intimidating. The lighting is low even though it is early morning, smoke fills the air. Men in suits argue with men in traditional dress and his father watches over it all, stoic and silent, dark eyes commanding all of their respect without words. Hanzo has those same eyes, has inherited so much of their father; he has his looks and his presence, the same coldness and authority. Genji knows he’s nothing like either of them, knows he’s not made for this life, and so he keeps his head down until he’s called on.

 

He's getting heady on the smoke by the time his name is mentioned. He blinks back into awareness and he’s fixed by the combined stares of both his father and brother. Where other men may have wilted, he returns a joyless smile.

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to need to attend the exchange with your brother. Appear briefly as a representative of the clan alongside him and then back out and watch over the surroundings for any third party interference,” his father’s voice is low and direct, speaking only because he knows his son won’t listen to anyone else, “Also, be ready to intervene if anything goes poorly. Our buyers tonight are important but also expendable. I can probably still reconcile with their leader if a few of their men have to die, and I’ll need someone who can deal with them.”

Genji wants to roll his eyes, huff and protest the job like a child. Instead he finds himself nodding, a gentle, “yes father” tumbling out of his mouth.

 He is horrified inwardly of his mindless agreement, behaviour so similar to his brothers that he rejects it. His fists ball up underneath the table, but he forces himself to relax for the moment - doing this one job for his family may buy him some leniency in the near future.

 

He spends the rest of the day in the family dojo, practicing aggressively with his wakizashi and his chokuto. He’s annoyed with himself, needs distractions, and definitely doesn’t have the patience for shuriken. He knows what he’s most likely going to have to do tonight; guilt turns to anger and he’s alone with his discontent. The peace of the day around the castle irks him, the servants coming and going, the group of clan elders meditating in the garden, it just doesn’t match with the tint of red around his vision. He’s sweating and panting, his heavy breathing loud and laborious over the chirp of summer insects and still air. The loud crash of his swords on practice dummies seems to echo across the grounds, striking and lonely. His discontent is his entirely, and it seems so insular when no one even tries to pay him any attention. None of this helps to improve his mood. While already pissed off over his decision to go along with his father’s wishes, the indifference of the castle seemed to only prove to him how much he did not belong there.

Night falls, and Hanzo comes to collect him. He walks begrudgingly along behind his brother, until they both climb into a large limousine waiting for them at the castle entrance, disregarding the entourage of armoured trucks both in front and behind their ride. He sits next to Hanzo, but as far away from him as he can. While Hanzo stays perfectly still, focusing on some spot in front of them, Genji cannot help but fidget. He alternates between staring out of the window to glancing awkwardly around the car. He wonders briefly if it’s new; his family seemed to purchase and scrap vehicles quite liberally, an insurance policy to make sure their cars couldn’t be tracked back to any crime scenes. He hopes they would have to get rid of this one when they were done tonight, the leather was hard and uncomfortable beneath him, and he would prefer to sit slightly farther from Hanzo, if at all possible. He spares a glance at the other. His brother is in formal wear, his usually orange training gear replaced with traditional garments in a deep blue, accented with the gold that complimented his superior attitude, Genji thinks, sardonically. He supposes that Hanzo was dressed as such to appear professional and harmless when making the trade, while Genji is in his ninja attire to best assist him in any fights that may break out, the swords on his back a threat and a warning. Genji smirks, the flowing lines of Hanzo’s clothes are rather lenient and distracting, but even he can tell that there are still plenty of blades strapped close to his skin. He wonders is there will ever come a day when he or his brother will not be armed to the teeth, weapons rather than sons of the Shimada clan. No amount of rebellion will change the fact that he is exactly what they want him to be- exploitable. They both are. All of a sudden, Genji is wishing that the limo they sit in had wheels, a loud engine, something to cover up the silence that allows him to think.

They arrive at a warehouse, a place that is supposed to be neutral ground for the sale to take place, but Genji has been here so many times before- he knows they own the whole thing. The building is large and dark, to their left is a small river and highway, to their right is a wooded area and garden. Isolated and abandoned, it was a pretty perfect pick.

Once inside, the men with them disperse to organize the goods to be sold, leaving Hanzo and Genji standing in the center of the warehouse alone. They are silent for a moment.

“…You have been unusually quiet, brother, not that I’m complaining,” Hanzo begins, “but...”

Genji snorts, “why? Are you concerned?”

Hanzo shakes his head minutely and rolls his eyes. Genji doesn’t push it, though he wants to. He’s too committed to ignoring his brother, as if such childish protest would make any difference to his situation.

The initial introduction with the buyers goes well enough, as far as Genji can tell. He mostly stands besides Hanzo and tries to look professional whilst older men use his name as a selling point. Soon enough he is able to disappear to the roof top, lazily scanning the surroundings with shuriken resting between his fingers. The night air is stuffy, still. He rests between the crates stacked on the roof and allows his hearing to do his lookout job for him, whilst he fumes.

He hates doing jobs for his family. He absolutely knows the masses of weapons they sell tonight will be used to kill hundreds across the country. While he can usually ignore it, knowing he was directly involved in the process will fuck him up badly for the next few days, and he is already planning on how best to get wasted and forget.

He listens closely to the bubble of the nearby stream, tries to allow it to relax him. He’s never been any good at meditation. Soon he is restless, he hears muffled voices bellow him and tries his best to ignore them. The night is unusually freezing and he feels his limbs shaking, struggling to listen over the shivering of his jaw. He feels a sharp pain in his hands and jumps.

“Shit,” he whispers, voice low. The clenching of his fists had caused the shuriken held between his knuckles to cut into the soft flesh of his palm. He drops the weapons, attempting to wipe the blood now trickling down his hands onto his clothing. He curses again, knowing that the red stain would never wash out of the white material. He’s scrambling to look for something to stop the bleeding when he hears it. A person attempting to approach the warehouse, crawling through the grass.

“Shit, fuck” he dashes to the edge of the roof. He reaches behind him to unsheathe his blade as silently as possible before dropping down to the ground, rolling sideways, around the back of the other. Their head jerks up from the ground. He’s been noticed.

“Who’s there?” the man growls, his voice gravelly and throaty.

“What are you doing here?” Genji asks. He ducks closer to the shadows. The man spins onto his back, pointing the small automatic he had been carrying underneath him at where he thinks Genji is. The ninja gets about half a seconds warning before the man starts firing at him. He’s diving for cover, his heart racing in his ears. The sound of the man’s gun is shatteringly loud in the relative quiet of the night. The man is nearing his hiding spot behind a large rock, his grip on his sword tightens. He moves backwards and to the left, jumping and scaling a broad-leaved tree. He’s very lucky the area is so dense. It’s hard to feel the sharp stabbing of branches in his soft skin with so much adrenaline pumping in his veins. The man continues firing wildly at the area in front of him. Genji takes a few deep breaths in the tree, praying that he wouldn’t be seen as he maneuvers himself into position.

 It won’t be hard.

With a practiced ease, he leaps, rolling quietly when he hits the ground, and spins. One hand grabs the back of the man’s shirt, jerks him backwards. The other slips his sword underneath the man’s chin, holding him still.

“What-”

“Shut up” Genji hisses. The man is taller than him, he is forced to speak upwards towards his ears, “ _What_ are you doing here?”

He hears the man chuckle, feels the rumble through his chest. Panic flashes through him.

“I asked you a-”

The man grabs hold of his sword, yanks it forwards. Genji tries to keep his grip, but the blood flushing from his palms has made it slippery. It clatters to the ground, in front of them both and the man is turning to face him. Genji tries to dash away, but he feels a grip on the front of his clothing. Suddenly, the word is spinning. Genji feels a sharp pain in his head and along his side, and realizes he has been thrown heavily to the ground. He carries his momentum, attempts to tumble as far away from the fight as possible. He sees the man raise his gun and he grabs for his wakizashi, hoping to all the gods that he will be able to block some of the bullets using the admittedly far-fetched ability he had been practicing. The man doesn’t shoot however, simply stalks towards him aiming his weapon at Genji’s face. The threat angers and mocks the dragon beneath his skin, he feels the prickle of electricity across his back and shivers. Even with a gun pointed in his face, his tattoo reminds him that there is no way he can die here.

_It is beneath him._

He feels an animalistic snarl shape his face, furious as the barrel is pressed to his forehead.

“You need to stay out of my way, you brat”

His head is forced backwards, the man leers over him. Behind his back, he changes his grip on the small sword. He feels his limbs hum with the dragon’s power, buzzing in his bones.

“You’re going to tell me how many men are in that building, and then I’m going to kill you-”

Genji has already moved. Ducking underneath the gun and dashing forwards, he slices upwards with deadly precision. His momentum carries him into the other and they crash to the ground, Genji straddling the other.

He lifts the sword again, but realizes there is no need. The deep cut across the man’s neck is proof enough that his blade has already found its mark. Guttural choking sounds echo between them, and Genji stares as hot blood pours out of the man’s mouth and the gash on his neck, his spluttering splashing it wildly across the young ninja’s face and clothes as the man under him chokes and bleeds out. It takes a few moments, but the struggling beneath him eventually stops. Genji watches the light fade from the others eyes and then looks back to the gaping, fluttering wound he had left, transfixed. The red pool begins to soak into his clothing and he stands up abruptly, staggering backwards.  He swallows deeply, feeling his entire body shudder. The rush of adrenaline and the dragons power left him abruptly, leaving him utterly cold. The only warmth he feels is the blood sticking his clothes to his skin; the coppery smell suddenly overwhelming.

The man is dead. It’s alright. He backs off, thinks about entering the warehouse and warning his brother about the disturbance. Somehow, he thinks he might be too lightheaded for the task.

In favour of passing out next to the man he killed, he decides to stumble over to the garden to the side of the warehouse. He knows he can reach it if he makes it through the trees. The rotting smell of the forest floor slaps him in the face nauseatingly. The ground is covered in branches which snap underneath his feet, the tree trunks are wide and rough under his fingertips, unusual for this region of the country. He can no longer see the light of the moon overhead him; it’s all together too dark and his panic rises in the pit of his stomach. The plant life is dense, but he is sure he can hear voices. Instead of turning around and running from what could be the man’s allies, could be the police, could be any form of media, Genji presses forwards towards the people, feeling cold, alone and filthy.

They’re sitting in the garden. Keen eyes readjust to the dim light of the lanterns they have when he pokes his head into the clearing. He’s not sure if the blinding head rush he feels when he identifies them is guilt or relief.

The group of Shambali monks meditating besides the shallow pool, listening to the instructions of one man standing before them with a soothing voice.

Their attention is brought to him as he stumbles into the clearing, collapsing to his knees. He hears their panicked voices raising, shocked out of their practice. Some begin to rise, looking over at him. One voice in particular shouts out above the rest.

“Genji?!” The boy from the other night, Zenyatta stands abruptly, running over to him. Without hesitation, already on his knees, the monk wraps his arms around his waist, steadying him.  Genji hears the concerned clamour of the monks behind them, but his eyes are drawn to the face of the boy before him.

“It’s okay, I have you.”

Concerned and beautiful amber eyes search his. With regret, Genji shuts them, terrified of what Zenyatta will find there.


	4. Stream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this one is short! I'm having trouble working on the next one but I didn't want to keep anyone waiting! Enjoy!

The freezing cold of the water flushes over Genji’s skin and he jolts. Dipping his hands in the flow, Genji stares into the translucent black of the stream before starting to rub his hands together underwater. He catches a plume of colour in the stream before it too flushes away as quickly as it appeared. It was always so easy to wash away blood from his hands.

Zenyatta had taken him, arm slung over his shoulder, to the stream on the other side of the warehouse. The monk had insisted he needed to wash the cuts on his hands, though he wondered how much of the blood on his clothing the monk could see in the low lighting. He wonders how much the monk could see that he isn’t talking about.

He feels a hand on his forearm.

“Is that any better?” His voice is so gentle.

Honestly, the pain didn’t particularly bother him. He bit his tongue on that one. 

“Yeah,” he glances down at Zenyatta’s hand, “yeah, thank you.”

It’s dark, but he can see the glint of Zenyattas eyes looking at him, aflame against the night. He turns away, standing abruptly.

“Thanks for helping me out, but I should probably- probably…”

Genji’s loud voice pitters out into the empty space. He looks at his feet, feeling the burning stare of the other across his back.

“I should go.”

“Genji…”

His face pulls together, preparation, the moment before the blow.

“I know that I do not know you, and that I have no real right to presume anything about your situation…”

“I really have to go,” He reiterates.  His fingers are twitching, nervous, anxious energy.

“Don’t, please.”

Genji looks over his shoulder reluctantly. Zenyatta is knelt at the river side, facing him with a sad and pleading expression.  

“I can help,” the boy sputters out abruptly.

“I- What? I don’t know what you are talking about,” Genji says, probably a bit too quickly. 

The frigid cold air between them is awkward and still. Genji still itches to leave, to run away from the unfamiliar tenderness in the others voice and minimise the risk of the other finding out about the actual, awful things he and his family had done.

“I can- I would like to help.” The Monk’s voice is quieter now, “You’re hurting and I- I’ve trained to-”

“What are you talking about? I’m fine,” Genji puts his best smile on, facing the other “You’ve really helped me with these cuts, my hands don’t hurt in the slightest anymore!”

Zenyatta gives a lingering and sad look. He doesn’t think it’s pity. Just worry and something else, something more. Genji wonders when he became a professional in reading this guy’s expression and chides himself.  Emotional idiot.

“Thanks for all your help, really. It’s been very- uh- sweet. I-  Would you like me to walk you back to your group?”

Zenyatta gives him another long look, this time it’s utterly unreadable.  He rises to his feet slowly, not pausing to brush away the dirt and grass and leaves that stuck to the front of his robe. His lips tug up at the ends slightly, turning to look at his feet.

“While I do not require assistance, I would be glad of your company,”

 

They walk together in silence a few moments. Genji’s mind is screaming as usual. He should be rushing back to the warehouse. His father would be so mad.  He thinks about how this could have been a nice, peaceful walk, and then thinks about how much danger he may be putting the other in and his mind is at it again. A tightness in his throat. Stuttering air in his lungs. Chaos behind his eyelids.

He feels a hand on his shoulder. It takes him a second to acknowledge it behind processing the rest of his disturbed thoughts, but he twitches his head eventually.

The shorter boy doesn’t look at him this time, simply rubs his back. The rhythmic movements pull a deep breath from Genji.  The night is still and he can see the almost full moon resting low in the sky. He can hear the crickets and can feel the shift of the gravel under his feet. The strong, circular stir of Zenyatta’s hand gives him an anchor to the world around him. By the time they reach the edge of the woodland, he feels his head emptying, calming down. It’s such a foreign experience for the Ninja that he actually gasps inaudibly when the hand is removed. Zenyatta stops when they approach the garden, standing in front of the other.

“Thank you for accompanying me, friend,” He looks behind him towards the garden, “You are welcome to join us if…”

Zenyatta trails off, and Genji realizes he’s been staring into the other’s eyes blankly for a few seconds now.

“I can’t.” He tries not to sound so sad but he’s honestly just so tired at this point.

Zenyatta nods. Genji clenches his fists, taking a second to realise that they are still in pain from when he sliced them open. The sting is what re-awakens him.  He holds the pain for a few more seconds, re-asserting himself. It’s so bright here, Zenyatta has to be able to see the blood. He has to leave before the boy asks him a question he can’t answer.

“I really need to go.”

“I understand… But Genji?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said last night. If it would not be too much trouble, come see me again?”

“I-,” Genji’s gaze slips to the floor, “yeah of course. Tuesday? At the arcade?” he feels a laugh tumble out of his unsmiling lips, “avoid the guys who tend to drink out the front, they’re nothing but trouble…you don’t want that…”

He knows his voice is as empty as he feels. Zenyatta nods again and turns, walking away from him, the light and warmth of his fellow monks.

 

Genji screws his eyes up.

This isn’t emotional. It isn’t.

Still, the lonely, empty feeling in his chest pools behind his eyelids, threatening to spill out, hot and wet. He catches the only tear that escapes and bites his lip.  Standing in a forest feeling sad will do him no good. He has to go back.

With little energy left, he walks back to the warehouse in no rush. He climbs up a generator and a pile of barrels to peak into the back window to see what’s been going on. The lights aren’t on in the warehouse. It takes him a moment to realise that he is too late, and the exchange is already over. The panic in his gut flares up once more, and he swears he is going to get stomach ache if he is faced with one more surprise.

Carefully, he makes his way around to the front of the building to where the families vans and limousines had been hidden.

He makes his way past the trees and into the small clearing. The vans are gone, there remains only two armoured trucks and the limousine the brothers arrived in.

A number of suited men are standing around the open door of the back end of the limousine. As Genji gets closer he can make out the worried tones in the voices of the men, and his pulse quickens. He hurries towards them.

The urgent voices turn to silence as he approaches, and the sees the men turn to him with guarded expressions. He doesn’t usually feel so nervous surrounded by his father’s men, but the looks they give him cause that sickening feeling of cold panic to swirl about his ears. He gets close enough that he can see his brother sitting in the back seat of the car, turned to face the group. Hanzo is hunched over, one hand clutching his side.

Hanzo’s dark eyes turn towards him with a look of such contempt that turns Genji’s stomach.  His brother is tired, in pain, and angry.

“…Genji,” The elder Shimada’s voice is weak, “where were you?”

 


	5. Alleyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for abandoning this. It's mostly because I stopped playing overwatch, and started university. But I might have some time to work on this and get it going again. Let me know if you're still interested in seeing updates.

_Hanzo’s dark eyes turn towards him with a look of such contempt that turns Genji’s stomach.  His brother is tired, in pain, and angry._

 

_“…Genji,” the elder Shimada’s voice is weak, “where were you?”_

“I-I,” Genji can’t answer him, all-encompassing shame trickling down his body. Under the weight of Hanzo’s eyes, his father’s eyes, Genji crumbles every time.

“Wait, Genji, what happened to you?”

Genji gets ready to apologise, angry, pleading, he doesn’t know- wait, what?

The breath he had sucked in is knocked out of him.

Hanzo is actually panicked, wide eyed and trying to half climb out of the limousine seat. The guards clamour about him, sitting him back down with careful but forceful hands.  Genji approaches quickly, finding he can only stand there uselessly as Hanzo settles down again. Confusion, uncomfortable and thick takes hold, and Genji can only try and figure things out in flashes.

“It’s okay, please,” he’s looking at the way his elder is bent at the middle, how he struggles to move, “Hanzo, are you hurt?”

His brothers face settles slowly, and his gaze turns to his knees.

“I sustained several knife wounds to my side. It can be easily repaired. I will be fine,” Hanzo turns in annoyance to the men hovering above him, “if you would all just give me some space.”

“You were stabbed?” Genji nearly yells, stepping in closer as the guards move away. He takes a second to breathe in and out, “what happened?”

It takes him a moment, but when Hanzo finally answers, his voice is small “A small group on men interrupted the exchange. One grabbed me from behind before I could react and held a gun toward my men and a knife at me,” he stops to cough slightly, “We outnumbered them, it was over quickly.”

“But you were hurt,” Genji finishes.

“The cuts are not deep, I will be fine,” he glances at the blood on his palm where he has been holding his side, “There has been training to help me cope in such situations.”

Genji can do nothing but watch his brother, feeling absolutely useless. There is a moment of awkward silence.

He hears Hanzo sigh.

“Genji are you okay? You’re covered in blood.”

Genji looks down at himself, remembering how his outfit had once been a pure white, in contrast to the splotchy, dirty crimson that was drying on his body.

“I- yeah. Yeah there was a guy. Probably was with the ones that attacked you. He threatened me- he had a gun- I-”

 For some reason, he has trouble speaking his actions. His stomach twists to remember the wet and fleshy cut that he made, the fire of life fading from the man’s body. How he couldn’t tell the difference between the fading body heat and the warmth of the pooling blood before he pulled of straddling the dead man.

“I killed him.”

Hanzo nods.

“You were unharmed?”

Genji doesn’t feel the need to bring up the gashes in his palms and makes a small sound of assentation.

Hanzo is silent for a moment before speaking, “You didn’t warn us?”

Genji’s immediate and argumentative reply catches in his throat. He is too tired.

“…I’m sorry brother. I nearly passed out. Couldn’t move,” he mumbles.

Hanzo nods again.

“Alright then, well,” he is interrupted by a longer, louder, wetter sounding cough. The guards shift uncomfortably in their places.

“Maybe we should-” Genji begins

“Yes, I think we should probably go.”

 

The ride home is as quiet and dark as the ride there. The only difference between the brothers is the sag of their bodies into the stiff leather seats, injured and exhausted. Only very young men, the Shimada brothers were desperate to return to their castle, no matter what consequences awaited them there. The bumps along the road drew small and quickly smothered gasps of pain out of Hanzo, still bent over clutching his side, his long black hair curtaining his face on either side. Every noise his brother made caused Genji to wince; sharp and unavoidable guilt.

When they pulled up to the castle, the entourage of guards crowded around Hanzo’s door and set about manhandling the boy towards the main entrance, despite his snapping and vitriol. He would be taken to their small recovery room, where the family nurse would see to him while they waited on the well paid-off license doctor to arrive and patch him up.

Genji looks on as his brother is marched inside and quietly slips out of the car. Instead of following the others through the main door, once again he decides to climb up and around to his room. There is no real need to be stealthy, but habit and discomfort urge his footsteps lighter and his breath held tight. He manages to climb through his open window and struggles to find his bed in the dark. He sits down on it heavily, eyes turned to his lap but unseeing.

The cold air blowing through his window shuffles his hair. His skin prickles with the feeling. The sounds of the city feel terribly distant and apathetic. Pulling his legs close to hug his chest, he grits his teeth. The nasty, smothering loneliness he has become so familiar with is back, a blanket in the cold, empty dark silence of his room. He sits there for several moments, lacking the basic energy to move in the slightest. To avoid slumping over and falling into unhappy dreams right then and there, Genji fishes around on his bed for his phone, flicking on his screen and wincing in the harsh unnatural light that followed.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his phone is blown up with messages from friends, people he isn’t so friendly with, and one night sands. He quickly deletes all of his notifications before they can begin to overwhelm him, and scrolls down his list of contacts until he finds one of his close friends. He wouldn’t call them best friends- Genji doesn’t think that he has any true best friends- but Touma is reliable, fairly lucid when drunk, and is one of Genji’s only friends with whom he hasn’t made out with yet. He pulls up their conversation window; he isn’t in the mood to talk out loud right now.

 

T -i came by your place at like 11 but you werent in? you busy?

T -if its something with your dad i totally relate, mines trying to send me to a summer camp? what bullshit.

T -are you asleep or something fuck

 

It takes a lot of unnecessary energy to actually think of a reply.

 

G -Yeah it was family shit, same old. You still up?

T – i got you, whats up?

G – I really need to get blackout

G – But I really don’t wanna have to see anyone right now

T – huh

T – quick question

T – you ok?

G – No.

T - yeah ok omw

 

He drops the phone to his side and lies on his back, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. He tries to fall asleep, or dissociate, or fucking _something_ while he waits.

Its only about 20 minutes of wishing himself out of existence until he hears his phone start buzzing next to his ear. Yeah, Touma’s here. Deep breathes, get out of bed.

Out the window again, climb down to the garden, over the west wall, on the street.

He can see Touma in the dark, a shadow in the pitch morning against the tarmac, wet with summer rains. The streetlight shines only a little into the back alley his friend is waiting for him at, and Genji hurries away from it.

“Hey man,” Touma calls out to him, eyes narrowing as Genji gets closer, “are those- are you covered in bloodstains?”

“Well it’s not fucking ketchup,” Genji mutters, ducking into the alleyway. He briefly regrets not taking a moment to change his clothes, but then remembers he doesn’t give a shit, and maybe he deserves to feel bad. Touma is giving him a look that reads worried but Genji knows it’s reprehensive. Well that wouldn’t do. Touma isn’t allowed to flake out on him. Touma has the alcohol, “we doing this or what?”

Touma briefly opens his mouth, but bites his lip down on whatever thought that was, before turning away and motioning Genji to follow him. They hop into Touma’s car without anyone seeing them and are back at his place in no time. Touma pours them both several shots of the strongest bullshit he could get his hands on in under 20 minutes, and they sit out in his damp garden.

“So uh- my dad wants me to go to a summer camp?”

Genji scoffs around his drink, “You can ask me about what happened, you know.”

Touma gives Genji a little smile, “I don’t think I really want to, to be perfectly honest.”

Genji laughs openly at that, throwing the rest of his glass back, “Yeah, that’s fair. Pass me the bottle.”

Genji can’t much remember the rest of the night from that point on. Had he lived in a perfect world, the alcohol would erase everything that had happened prior to the drinking as well. Had he lived in a perfect world, he wouldn’t have had to kill a man, but he would take what he could get.

It takes him two whole days to get rid of the hangover he got that night. Waking up in Touma’s garden with a horrible headache and an overpowering nausea wasn’t a new experience, but not something he wanted to live through again for a quiet a while. Calling one of his bodyguards to come pick him up was about as humiliating as always, and curling up in his bed with a bottle of something fizzy, trying to not let his head spin as he watched videos online was not really his favourite way to spend his time. He briefly visits the staff downstairs in the castle to get his hand bandaged up, completing his look, along with lingering bruises and heavily tinted designer sunglasses. He walks heavily back to his quarters, avoiding eye contact with all the staff, and collapsing back against the door of his room when he gets there.

“You have _one_ daily reminder.”

He jumps as his computer sparks to life out of nowhere, and he’s reminded of the shitty exaggerated accent he’d programmed it with when he was high. Not as entertaining with a lingering hangover. He groans.  
“Fuck off.”

“Daily reminder postponed.”

He sighs, pulling himself up to a standing position, before walking over a few steps and then falling face down on his bed. His glasses dig painfully into his face, and his stomach is doing summersaults from the movement. He whimpers, resigned to the discomfort.

“One message incoming-”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Genji whines, pulling his pillow over his head.

“Choice overridden- Shimada family message-”

“No...”

“Message from Hanzo Shimada. [12:34] Father wanted a report on his desk yesterday. What are you doing. Message end.”

Genji rolls his eyes. Un-fucking-likely he’s going to respond to that demand, when he had ignored the first five.

Minutes later, he hears heavy banging on his door. He pulls the pillow down even harder over his ears.

“Genji, I know you’re in there.” Hanzo growls.

_No you don’t_ , Genji thinks, super hard, as though the thought might travel out of his head and into Hanzo’s.

“The servants saw you come up this way. I know you’re there.”

Ah. Genji still doesn’t respond, counting down the seconds until his brother found some other poor son of a bitch to harass.

He hears Hanzo sigh heavily, “Just- respond to your messages, okay?”

Genji holds his breath until he hears Hanzo’s sandaled footsteps taking him somewhere else.

He decides pretty quickly that, hangover or no hangover, he has to get out of the castle soon.

He picks himself up, a task in itself, until he is limply sitting upright on his bed.

“Computer,” he says, voice croaky and unused.

“You called?” it replies.

“What was my reminder?”

“Reminder, Tuesday, July 5th: I’m meeting Zenyatta at the arcade. Reminder end.”

Oh shit.

How’d he forget.

How was it Tuesday already?

He stands up quickly, and grits his teeth against the spinning. He begrudgingly opens his curtains to the bright midday sun, and winces.

In the stark lighting, he approaches his mirror to get a better look at himself. He does not like what he sees. Bruised and bandaged, greasy and exhausted, the Shimada prince is well below his usual standards of beauty, and not nearly ready to be going on a date.

Wait, a date? When did it become a date?

It didn’t, and it never will. Zenyatta’s just a target. He feels his hands begin to sweat under their dressings.

He looks barely better than the last time the monk had seen him, and that time he had been covered in blood. But he really doesn’t want to spend another minute in the castle...

He grabs a quick change of clothes from the wardrobe, and a pack of baby wipes from his bathroom. He wipes at his face and at various spots of grime on his body. He pulls a hat down over his hair and checks himself out again in the mirror.

That’s...not much better, really. He looks a little bit sick and a little bit like a drug dealer. At least his clothes are designer. It would have to do. Instructing his computer to shut off and not snitch on him, he hops out of his window and down into the garden below. He botches his landing, and crumples onto the ground with a shout. He rolls on to his back, clutching his knee and cursing. Standing up, he looks down at himself, and notices his fresh clothes are now dirty and grass stained. He stifles a quite scream in the back of his throat. Literally everything has to go wrong, doesn’t it?

A complete mess, still hung-over, and thoroughly down on himself, Genji hurries off of the castle grounds and towards a meeting with the one person in the city that make this day any better.


End file.
